


INKTOBER 2018

by Saldemar



Category: DnD - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work, dnd inspired - Fandom
Genre: Bad Decisions, F/M, Inktober, Inktober 2018, a lot of this bounces around, explores several dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 13,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16157882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saldemar/pseuds/Saldemar
Summary: i feel like they're just getting shorter and shorter and whether thats me getting more concise and efficient or me cutting corners, i am not Sure





	1. Poisonous

Poisonous

When Naivara was very little, her father told her alcohol was poison. That it brought out the worst in people. That it could kill. 

It’s why he told her to stay at his side in taverns and inns. It’s why he told her to go straight to bed and not to leave without rousing him. Why he never drank himself. 

Of course, Naivara was never particularly good at following directions. 

The nights where she’d slither out of their room and go pickpocket, they quickly soured when she realized what crowd exactly awaited her. 

She was sixteen when she witnessed her first bar fight. She’d only been sneaking for maybe two weeks. 

She wasn’t sure about who did what, but she remembered slurred yelling, an echoing slam, and the sound of patrons shuffling and whining. She whipped around, her hand in someone's pocket, and heard the screech and clunking of tables, before spotting some older men brawling not too far from where she sat. 

She managed to snag three coin, before sprinting back upstairs. 

She was jittery, barely able to turn the door knob, before she scurried to her father’s bedside. With shaky fingers, she slid the coin (a gold, and two silver) into a pocket. 

The she climbed into his beside and curled up against him. He adjusted, as he always did. He never stirred from his sleep, it was practically impossible when he was safe and cozy in a tavern. It was all muscle memory. He’d scoot to give her more room, then lean his cheek against the top of her head. 

In the distance, she could hear the scuffle downstairs become something worse. 

She could hear people walking past her door. 

“What the fuck happened this time,” someone growled.  
“Is it him again.”  
“I swear to the gods above, I don’t need this shit.”

Naivara burrowed into her father’s side, and did her best to sleep. 

-

She still went back. Still did her nightly rounds. Did it almost religiously. 

Bar fights, she could spot brewing. She’d finish up whatever she was doing, and retreat before anything escalated. 

But then Atlas came along. Atlas couldn’t be avoided. And he came to her, sometimes. 

The scariest night of her short life was when she was freshly eighteen, heard knocking, and found him at her door. He wanted to go on a walk with her. The night was warm, he knew a nice patch of area where they could simply talk. 

Naivara could hear her father snoring softly, just a few feet away. 

“Okay,” she said. “Just a minute.”

And she shut the door. 

Her boots felt heavy. 

And the night may have been warm, but it was cold enough for Atlas to decide she needed a scarf. Out of nowhere, he looped a long, black cloth around her shoulders. Then he had an arm around her waist. 

And they were walking. Walking in silence. 

“You seem chipper,” he said. 

“I’ve been caught off guard,” she admitted. “I didn’t anticipate….this. I was actually planning to just go to bed. I was in bed when you showed up.”

“Tired, then.”

“Yeah.”

They spoke quietly, softly. 

Naivara took note that they seemed to be the only ones out tonight. 

And then they arrived at the small patch of land, and Naivara felt an icy tingle in her spine. 

She came here before. A couple times. 

She’d been to this quaint, cute little corner of Raaian with the bard. He had brought his guitar, and some snacks, and they had nestled into the brush and spent the night talking, joking, hanging out in a comfortable silence. 

Now there was a blanket, and a picnic basket, and a bottle of wine. Some glasses. 

She deflated in relief. 

“Okay, that’s sweet,” she said, laughing. “You scared me but that’s sweet.”

He was silent. He gave her a smile, and poured her a glass. 

Naivara got a strange, heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach. 

“I don’t drink.”

Atlas paused. He gave her a sharp look. 

“You don’t?” He asked. His voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was heavier. Colder. 

“No.”

“Have you ever had a glass of wine?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you try it then?” He held the glass out. The red gleamed in the darkness. 

Naivara couldn’t help hardening up. 

“I...isn’t it poison?”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Now who put that thought in your head?” He asked, setting the glass down. 

“That’s what my father calls it. Says it brings out the worst in people. That it can kill. I just don’t feel comfortable drinking anything like wine or, or brandy or anything like that.”

Atlas took a deep breath. He let out a long, deep exhale. 

“Alright then,” he said, pouring the glass out on the grass. He took the bottle, popped out the cork, and punted it into the brush. Naivara stared at him in shock.  
“Someone could have drank it,” she said. “You, or one of your friends-”

“Ah doesn’t matter,” he assured, already sifting through the basket of goods. “You don’t have a aversion to sweets, do you?”

“No,” she said. He was tense. She could see it in his movements. 

She made an effort to avoid Atlas and his beverages, after that.


	2. Tranquil

Savan was in a perpetual state of stress.

If he wasn’t constantly keeping an eye out for opportunities to earn some coin, he was watching Naivara, and if he wasn’t watching Naivara, he was worrying about her. Even when she was at his side, he worked himself sick over what she could be thinking. Or feeling. 

She seemed fine, for the most part. Bubbly, and curious about the great big world. Everything was an adventure with her. It was endearing as it was heart attack inducing. 

He’d look away for half a minute, or pause to discuss something, and he’d look down and she’d be gone. The fear that seized his ribcage was unlike anything he’d experienced before. 

She was his baby! She could have been picked up and stolen away, or stumbled off into danger, or was lagging behind all alone she couldn’t defend herself she didn’t have any survival skills yet she was vulnerable, who knows what could have happened!

“Naivara if I’ve told you it once I’ve told you it a thousand times,” he scolded, holding her arm firmly. “Do not run away like that! You scared me half to death.”

She shrunk, and dropped her gaze. Savan felt his anger ease. He sat on his haunches and let out something between a scoff and a sigh.

“Just don’t do it,” he said. “Starshine, that scares me. I want to keep you safe. If you want to see something, tell me. Let me know. Don’t just run off, okay?”

She gave a nod. 

Savan spared a glance to the rest of the group, a couple yards off. They were setting things down, dispersing into their little groups, laying down on grassy patches. 

“What was it you wanted to see love?” He asked. 

Naivara took him by the sleeve, and hurried him to the riverbed. 

“Look!” 

He crouched down, and Naivara took a step into the river. 

“Love, no.” He tugged her back onto the earth, and scanned the riverside. “Take off your shoes and roll up your pants if you’re going in. Is that it?” He asked, gesturing to something orange and vibrant, nestled cozily between some rocks. She nodded, and prodded him in its direction. “You want me to show it to you, don’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He sighed. He pushed himself to his feet, and dusted off his hands. He rolled up his sleeves, and rustled her hair. “Only for you starshine.”

She gave him a toothy smile, and sat herself down on the grassy earth. She tugged off her boots, and quickly rolled up her pants. Savan balanced himself on some rocks, and crouched down. 

The water was clear, and pristine. It rippled like it was liquid glass. He could see the orange critter nestled between the slate like rocks, placidly twitching in the afternoon sun. 

He reached forward, and with a quick swipe, managed to pull it from the river. 

Savan despised this creature the moment he managed to get a hold on it. It was pulsing in its shell, cold, and he could feel it wriggle and writhe in his grip. He felt like his tongue and throat turned to steel.

“Alright Nai, take a look.”

She bounded to his side, feet sloshing in the water. She peered at it intently, eyes darting from one twitching limb to the next. It glimmered, shining as water dribbled from its seizing frame. 

“What is it?” She asked, adjusting her father’s arm for a different view. 

“Not totally sure,” he said. “But it’s spindly.” It twitched its legs erratically. “And I think it’s mad at me. I’m putting it back.”

“Okay.”

He set it down, and let it skitter away with the tide.He leaned back on his haunches, and plopped down on the grassy riverbed. The earth was warm between his fingers, and the air cool against his arms. 

Naivara waded in the shallow of the rocks, occasionally crouching down to flip a rock or pick up something she found. Pebbles, bits of algae. Once or twice she was brave, and picked up a tadpole. The first time, she startled herself and dropped it. 

The second time...

“Look!” She said, scrambling over, her palms cupped together. Water dribbled from her wrists, and a tiny, translucent creature wriggled in her grip. “Lookit what I found!”

Savan smiled, and peered into her hands. 

“What is it?” She asked.

“A tadpole. They grow into frogs.”

She looked down at her palms, wide eyed. 

“They don’t have legs?! Where do the legs come from when they’re big?”

“They grow them,” he said, straightening up. “Like lizards. If a lizard loses its tail it grows a new one.”

“H o w.” 

He couldn’t help laughing at her incredulousness. She crouched down at the riverside, and gently plopped the tadpole back into the shallows. 

She then retreated to her father’s side, toes digging into the warm grass. 

“Can we grow back limbs?” 

“No. Definitely not. We lose a limb and it’s gone forever.”

“Why can’t we grow back limbs?”

“Naivara, we just don’t.”

“That’s lame.”

Savan laughed, and let himself lie down. 

The sun was pleasant against his skin, and the wind a cool tickle on his arms. The riverside burbled gently along, lapping at the earth, and the tree’s rustled with a gentle breeze. His daughter was at his side in comfortable silence, picking at the earth and plucking flowers from their stems, quietly murmuring about anything that crossed her mind.

There was nowhere in the wide wide world that he’d rather be.


	3. Roasted

Burning flesh was a smell that Naivara despised. 

When she was young, it was almost pleasant. The smell of cooked meats and delicious spices. It made her salivate, she enjoyed the texture, flavor. She’d sometimes help cook it. 

Then one day it lost its charm. 

She was still fairly young, when meat began tasting wrong. When the smell began to make her ill. She just didn’t like it. She ate it, she needed food, but she began to loathe it. 

When she was bouncing around the coast, making her way to Voygonchaya, she couldn’t afford meat. It was nearly impossible to steal too. You couldn’t just walk up to someone and take their plate. Sometimes meats would be skewered on posts and set out to dry, but she couldn’t steal those if she tried. She could probably break off a piece but what good would that be? A small piece of meat she couldn’t even cook. Raw meat didn’t sit well, and tasted wrong. 

Wasn’t until she met the “Hansa” that she was able to really eat. She had gotten use to an empty stomach, the constant tension knit in the pit of her belly. 

Gods was it nice to sit and eat a meal. Even if it was a pretty deer who had never done anything wrong it’s life and didn’t deserve to be eaten. It tasted good. And its body wasn’t going to waste. 

Nothing really goes to waste, though. It all returns to the earth at some point or another. 

Some things faster than others. 

Naivara’s arms stung, in the early morning cold. The sun had yet to rear its head over the horizon, and bear down on them with it’s full fury. She had sparkling golden bracelets weighing down her arms, and a brand new amulet digging into her neck. She could hear birds chirping, distant rustling. 

She smelled ash. Ash and smoke and heavy, hot soil. 

She couldn’t tear her eyes from Sahar’s limp form. 

Her fingers fondled the chain of her necklace. 

Sahar was a person. Naivara knew that. She was a person, and she cared about that other fellow. The young wizard in custody. They were probably close, if not family. She got him a birthday gift. She had fucking grocery lists and shit. 

Naivara felt the metal begin to heat under her touch. A gentle warmth. 

That didn’t change shit. 

Atlas was a person. He had a fucking family. He had Kallisto, and Orion. He had his issues, his own sob story and laments and aspirations. Didn’t change the fact he decided to fuck her over, and made her life a living hell. 

Sahar may have been a person, but that didn’t change shit. Didn’t change the fact she fucked with Celeus, didn’t change the fact she probably tortured and killed prisoners on the daily, didn’t change the fact she was fucking dangerous, and a bitch, and cold and got a kick out of seeing people cry. 

Naivara could remember the snap as Sahar tore the necklace off her. She could remember the cold, detached smirk she was given, as Sahar’s figure began to shift. 

She saw herself in the flesh. Twirling the chain around her neck like it meant n o t h i n g. 

She wanted with all her might to scream, to cry, to die, to kill. She wanted to do everything all at once, and in the end, she was too fucking weak to do a thing. She was dragged off and bound to a chair, blindfolded and told to sit and wait. 

Sit and wait sit and wait sit and wait and hope. 

 

It fucking mattered. 

Everything fucking m a t t e r e d. 

 

She blinked feverishly, and found her palm outstretched over a roaring fire. 

Sahar and Krovan. 

Burning flesh. 

 

Oh gods.


	4. Spell

She could feel it. A deep, untapped fondness filling her ribs. 

She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. It was almost pleasant. Reminded her of warm dinners, and cuddling, and Atlas’ arm looped placidly around the small of her back.

She softened, and felt her frustration fade. Why was she even angry? She was back at her old stomping grounds, Atlas was here...he and his nice face and generous heart, and soothing words…

It was a flash in the pan. There and gone.

She stared at him for a second, not sure of who she was looking at. 

It was Atlas. Grey skin, golden eyes, loose black hair. 

She shrunk back in horror, and felt rage nestle between her shoulders, and coil in her spine. 

She sifted through her memories for a moment, and felt a deep bout of nausea roll through her. 

He’d done it before. This wasn't new. 

She didn't notice it back then. It had been too subtle, in the early days. Well, not subtle. She had leaned into the sensation. She had eaten it up. She felt it and thought it was good. She thought h e was why she felt that way. 

On some level it was. He d i d make her feel that way. 

She had been blind to the magic tugging at her heart strings. Blind to just how artificial the fruity, bubbly contentedness that spilled from her ribs was. 

She was so fucking b l i n d. 

Desperate? Manic? Reckless, stupid, selfish? Arguably. Probably. Yes. All of the above, if she was really, really honest with herself.

But If she was still as blind as she was back then, she chalked it up to rage.


	5. Chicken

Naivara adored animals. It was obvious to anyone who paid her the slightest bit of attention.

If she wasn't with her father, she was in a corner of camp, making small talk to a ranger or druid, while doting over whatever animal companion they had. None of them ever stuck around for long, their owners tended to move along from one group to another quickly, so Naivara got to meet a whole array of creatures throughout her youth.

She'd met several dogs of various breeds, a gecko, lizards, a small white monkey, a crocodile and one time, some strange feline that was large and striped. 

She discovered a fondness for birds. They were beautiful, and came in all shapes and colors. Ducks were kinda cute, ravens regal and refined. Swans were pretty.

Their baby's, however?

Tiny, soft, fluffy little things that could fit in the palm of her hand, oh she adored them. They had rubbery little feet and such soft feathers…

She watched them at a distance. The tiny babies waddled precariously in the early morning light, stumbling and catching themselves.

She lied down, and propped her chin on her arms. 

They bumbled around, knocking into one another, pecking at the earth. Their fluffy, soft yellow feathers dusted in fine droplets. Naivara could feel the dampness from the earth seeping into her stomach. 

She held out her arms above her head, cupped her hands not too far apart, and waited patiently, her chin digging into the earth. 

One of the chicks grew curious, and bumbled into her grasp not too long after. It pecked at her fingers, and she quickly tugged the chick into a gentle yet firm hold in her palms. It chirped and squirmed, frantically attempting to escape, but after a few moments, calmed down. Naivara ran her thumb along its tiny head, and it shut its eyes in contentedness. 

She sat cross legged, gently handling and petting and soothing the little chick, before she heard angry clucking, and a screech. She was so stunned, she lost her grip and the chick fell from her palms into the grass. 

And then hell broke loose. 

She heard an uproarious squawk, vehement clucking, and then caught a glimpse of something brown and white in the corner of her vision. It was there, and then it was in her face, flapping its wings with fervor, screeching, enraged. 

You can’t get attacked by a fucking chicken and handle it in a dignified manner. 

It’s impossible. 

Physically impossible. 

Judging by the sound of her father’s laugher, she was a spectacle to behold as she sprung to her feet and feverishly attempted to knock away the feathery murderball, to no avail. It kept coming back! Screeching and clawing at her like Naivara had opened pandora's box itself. 

“DAD, HELP ME.”

Savan leaned up against a tree, and cackling, pounded his fist into the wood. 

“D A D!!”

He pushed himself off, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“I got it, I got it,” he said, mirth in his voice. “Just a second!”

The chicken was relentless, it clawed at her ceaselessly, and circled her, angrily clucking, rage in its eyes. 

“Alright,” he said, a large branch now in his grip. “Get goin!” He swung, and the chicken clucked angrily, and hissed. “You go protect your babies and I’ll protect mine, how bout that?” He swung again, wide, and the chicken finally receded, scurrying away into the brush of the forest. He could hear clicking and chirping. 

Savan, turned, ready to scold Naivara for touching and handling wild birds again, but then he saw her disheveled hair, and the feathers clinging to her cloak. 

He burst into laughter once more, and helped dust her off,

“Oh my gods,” he said, his shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe I was blessed enough to witness that.”

“This never happened,” Naivara said, her shoulders beginning to shudder as well. “Witnessed what? Nothing was witnessed here.” 

“Nope,” Savan grinned, giving her a kiss on the head. “Nothin at all. I definitely didn’t witness a chicken challenge my daughter to a duel and nearly win. Definitely not.”

“D a d.”


	6. Drooling

6\. Drooling

“Ew! Valdsam n o!”

Naivara squeezed her eyes shut, attempting and failing to keep Valdsam at arms length. He was a lovely wolf, practically a dog, but l i c k i n g. That was the one fucking thing Naivara couldn’t stand, l i c k i n g. 

His tongue was rough against her cheek, her lip, her nose. She wanted to scream but then there was a chance he’d get her teeth, or the inside of her lips and she’d kill herself sooner than let his ruddy, mangey filthy germs into her mouth. Her hands or her arms were one thing, her mouth? Out of the question.

She craned her neck, and he lapped at her hair, her cheek, her ear gOD THAT WAS DISGUSTING, “AZAERIN!”

“What? He loves you.”

“HHHHHHHHHHH he won’t stop!”

“That’s because he loves you.”

“Tell him to YIELD.”

She heard a sigh. 

“Valdsam! Get your furry ass over here.”

Valdsam gave her one, final, torturously long lick, and then bounded off. 

Naivara pushed herself up on her palms, and touched her cheek. A string of saliva clung to her fingertips, and she shuddered in disgust. 

“Anyone got a cloth?” She asked, dragging her fingertips through the grassy hillside. From behind her, a cloth was punted onto her head, enveloping her in darkness.   
“Thanks, guys.”

“No problem!”


	7. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel like they're just getting shorter and shorter and whether thats me getting more concise and efficient or me cutting corners, i am not Sure

The worst day of her life had to of been just after Atlas kicked her to the curb. 

She worked hard to repress those memories, but they always reared their ugly head, and broke her ribs from the inside out. 

She burrowed into her father's side, her cheek against his chest. She listened to his breathing. It was shaky, and a bit uneven, but consistent. When she was little she used to try to breath the way he did, sync it up and all, but she never could. At some point she’d slip back into her own slow pattern, and simply be. 

She breathed deeply, soaking up his scent. He smelled faintly of cold metal, and concrete. If she took a deep breath with intent, she could detect a hint of earth.

When she was small, he used to smell of clover and grass. And dirt. And although at the time it was a little less than ideal, looking back it was comforting. 

Back then if she woke before him, she used to pick grass and clovers from his hair in the early hours. She’d collect them and put them in her pocket, and she told herself one day she’d be like, “Look at how much I collected from you, crazy, isn’t it?” or something, but that day never came. 

She could recall that she had balled it up, and rubbed it between her fingers when she was stressed. It had been maybe the size of a large marble, and crumbly and ugly when she finally lost it. 

She shut her eyes tight. 

She didn’t need to remember every detail of it. She didn’t need to remember the cold, the damp hair, the empty stomach or sticky grass and soaking bag. Yet the sensations wouldn’t leave her be. They assaulted her on every front, her fingers going cold, her hair becoming heavy. 

She reached up, snagging some of her curls in her palm, and found them to be dry. 

I am here, she reminded herself, adjusting herself in her father's arms. 

I am safe, warm and cozy, and far, far from Cerinth. 

She wanted to cry in relief. 

She hadn’t registered how bone deep her exhaustion had been, for the past year and a half. The tension that had nestled into the pit of her ribs and joints, and weighed her down was slowly easing. With every breath, she exhaled some more of it, and could feel a pleasant coolness prickle her skin. 

She breathed deeply, and let his heartbeat and rickety breathing lull her to sleep.


	8. "Star {shine}"

“Why do you call me that?”

Savan looked down at his daughter sharply. She was hugging her stuffed bear close, swaddled up in an old blanket the color of worn leather. She was small, but warm and toasty, and despite only having his jacket to fend off the cold, he felt almost perfect with her nestled cozily against him.

“Do you not like it?” He asked, already deflating. His back dug into the bark of the old log, and he let out a defeated sigh. He liked it. It was the only nickname he truly liked. 

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Well.” He thought back. 

The fire, a couple paces off, crackled and burned in the silence. He watched the embers flutter up, up up into the darkness. 

“You...are...like me,” he said, a hand resting on his chest. “But you’re also like your mother. And you’re you, most of all.” He thought carefully, for how to phrase his thoughts. Nai adjusted, so she was facing him without having to crane her neck. She sat on his lap, the blanket still swaddling her. She stared at him with curiosity. 

“I’m from Tethia. There, the sun is very important and respected, more than anything else. Your mother however, came from the East. There, the moon and night are highly respected. I felt like leaning into one or the other wouldn’t do you justice. So I chose stars.” He jutted his chin upwards. 

Naivara looked up, and saw the stars twinkling in the deep, inky purple of the sky. The moon was full too, glowing softly. 

“The moon, sun and stars all share the same sky. You know, stars are suns, in their own right. They only reason we don’t call them all suns is because we don’t orbit every single star. Just the one.” Savan carded his fingers through her hair. 

“I cannot bring myself to associate my lovely, darling girl with the sun. Even if my world does revolve around you and only you,” he said, giving her a peck on the forehead. “The sun is blinding, and intense. You can’t quite admire it either. It burns. Sometimes it can kill.”

“You however, are my starshine. I could sit here and admire you for hours. You bring light into the darkness, and enhance everything in your vicinity. You bring me peace.” 

He pulled her into a hug, and Naivara couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. 

“I love you papa.”

“I love you more than anything in the whole world, starshine. Never forget it.”


	9. Precious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> formatting weird and im too tired to redo it but i plan/hope to re write this at some point so its v v better

 

The night of Naivara's birth, Savan was roused from sleep by Eraveia, who bludgeoned him awake with her violin case. 

 

Delirious and sleep deprived, Savan caught it, yanked it from her grasp, and tossed it aside. 

 

He blinked through the pulsing darkness, and managed to catch her wrist as she made a move to swing at him.

 

“Eraveia,” he said, drained, “What is it.”

 

She yanked her arm from his grip, and moved it to her stomach. 

 

Savan expected to feel a soft, firm curve. 

 

It was deformed. Shifting. Eraveia was trembling.

 

“HOLY-”

 

Eraveia swung at him, and he took the hit. He shut up, and scrambled to her side.

 

“Okay, okay,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

 

She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close, forehead to forehead. 

“Do you know how much self control it’s taking not to scream bloody murder right now?” She hissed. “Help me, Savan  _ help me. _ ”

 

Savan had a moment where he forgot everything,  _ everything  _ he had ever known. There was a solid second, where he firmly believed he was the most useless, least equipped individual in the world. 

 

Then that moment ended. 

 

“Up, up,” he said, assisting her onto the old, worn log that she had sat up against moments ago. “Okay, sit, I’m going to try grabbing some help okay?” He gave her a peck on the cheek, and scrambled off. 

 

He tripped over two people, there was a low commotion, and word got around that Eraveia was in labor.  Immediately, the druid he had crushed under his weight was up, and heading her way. Someone in the darkness offered to help, said they had something to help ease her pain. 

 

When he made his way back to Eraveia, the druid had casted a spell that softly illuminated her and the earth before them. A stout and refined fellow held a tin of something, and Eraveia was chewing zealously. She saw him and reached out, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. 

 

Once he was close enough she pulled him into a hug. 

 

“M’ scared,” she whispered. 

 

“You’ve got this,” he told her, giving her a firm kiss on the cheek. 

 

It was then that Savan lost track of everything. He had been right there, up against her side, and then he wasn’t, the druid said something, Eraveia was gripping his hand like a life line, he was crouching between her legs, setting her skirt aside, listening to her grit her teeth and seeth and silently curse him out because this was His fault of course, he was comforting her, giving her a kiss and then she was crushing his hand once more.

 

And then the druid was rolling up his sleeves and Savan registered that this was happening. 

 

This was actually happening. 

 

His kid was  _ here.  _

 

And then all was said and done and Eraveia was back on the earth, propped up against the log, leaning into his side, their baby in her arms. They cried, as all babies did, but once Eraveia held them close, and gave them a kiss and rocked them gently, they quieted. He could hear happy gurgling. 

He was so happy, he cried. He peppered Eraveia in kisses, and looped his arm around her waist and just felt her up against his side, and thanked every fucking God and Goddess he could think of for her and their baby. 

 

He couldn’t wait for sunrise. He was so, so positive that everything would be fantastic. 

 

And it was. 

 

Eraveia dozed in and out, and there came a point where she handed the baby off to him, and napped against his side. 

 

When the sun rose, Savan got his first look at his girl. 

 

A  _ girl _ . A lovely girl, with Eraveia’s dark skin and a few wispy, dark curls atop her head. Chubby little cheeks and little freckles across her soft, tiny features. 

 

He couldn't stop smiling. She was absolutely precious. Perfect, in every way. 


	10. Flowing

Savan couldn’t count the number of times he’d cried since leaving home. 

 

He had cried alongside Eraveia, back when she was around. He had cried when Naivara was born. He had cried several times, throughout her youth. Once or twice in her presence. For the most part, when she was asleep. 

 

The worst night of his life was when he thought he’d never see her again. 

 

He didn’t know what happened. Part of him didn’t want to know. Another part of him  _ needed  _ to know.

 

“WHY AM I IN HERE!”

 

He rattled the bars with all his might, seething. 

 

“I have a daughter to return to, she needs me!”

 

“Look, Savan,” a drow man said. “Save your energy.”

 

“Why am I in here,” he asked. “What did I do?”

 

“Oh you've done nothing. It’s the girl who's in for it.”

 

Savan felt like his fingers were on fire. 

 

“Where is she,” he asked. 

 

“Probably lookin for you. Still at the tavern, asking around.” 

 

He could feel his heart tear in two. She was looking for him. She needed him. 

 

“Please,” he said. “She's my baby. The only good thing in my life there is.”

 

“Not a baby,” the drow man retorted. “A young lady. As  _ he  _ puts it, a  _ fine  _ young lady. A fine young lady with decisions to make.”

 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Savan asked. 

 

The drow man gave him a cold smile. 

 

Savan could have screamed.

 

What did it mean what did it mean, who was this “he” calling his baby a “fine young lady.”

 

Not to say she wasn't. She was a beautiful, lovely, kind girl. She was brilliant and intelligent and silly. Perfect, he'd argue. 

 

Oh gods. 

 

He took a breath, and pulled his hands from the bars. He turned, and sat on the cold, hard ledge of the cell. He pulled his knees to his chest, shut his eyes, and prayed.

 

For the first time in many, many years, he prayed. Prayed long and hard. Prayed until the tears flowed down his face and between his fingers. 

 


	11. Cruel

Sometimes, Naivara pondered going back in time and changing things. 

Of course, she couldn’t. Wasn’t feasible, past was the past and all. 

She pondered it, though. 

Sitting in the freezing cold, hugging herself in the darkness, she couldn't do much else. 

She shut her eyes.   
The first thing she typically pondered was striking out on her own. What if she had stayed? Where would she be then. 

Well, she told herself. You’d be in Raaian, with a perpetually pissed off boyfriend constantly breathing down your neck. You’d owe “favors” as he put it. 

She pulled her legs up close to her chest. 

Services, more like. She could see it in his eyes. There was a quiet blend of rage and desire in them. She knew Atlas had a lot of pent up crap, from his duties and life in general. She presumed the darkness in his gaze was mostly that. A quiet, passive frustration with existence as a whole. 

She first identified desire in Mason’s gaze. He wasn’t particularly good at hiding his feelings. He stared at her, marveled at her like she was something brilliant. Something amazing. And when he got close and quietly, sincerely told her all the thoughts going through his mind, his eyes were the only thing she could focus on. They were beautiful. A lovely brown. 

There was a genuine, tender desire in them that she could see clear as day. She couldn’t imagine telling him no. Couldn’t conceptualize it. 

It wasn’t until they parted ways that she realized that desire came in many shapes and forms. 

Desire alongside quiet rage were bound for trouble. It’s why she only let him have that one kiss. Why she guided his hands off her, why she avoided drinking anything with him. As much as she wanted to believe he liked her, she knew it wasn’t in Atlas’ nature to value anything for long. 

He wanted things. Didn’t mean he wanted to actually hold onto them forever and ever. Didn’t mean he really, truly cared.

Did she hope she was the exception? More than anything. 

She wasn’t, though. 

She might have been, until the night she blew it. The night she left the tavern, and didn’t come back until well into the early hours. 

Atlas was waiting for her. He was tired, and sleepy. Night owls typically turned in by that point, yet there he sat, sipping from his drink, watching her. Waiting for her to greet him. 

She had to wipe that smile off her face. She was acutely aware of her sway, the way she walked, her breathing. 

“Where have you been?” He inquired, almost nonchalant. 

“I felt like exploring,” she admitted. 

“I could have gone with,” he said, almost pouty. “Could have shown you some interesting spots. Should have let me go with you. You left before I was even down.”

“Yesterday’s sunset was beautiful,” she said. “Once I was outside I couldn’t go back in. Besides, I wanted the alone time.”

He scrutinized her deeply, then. 

“You’re glowing,” he muttered. 

She smiled back. 

He smiled back, and she could see it. A refined desire in his gaze. It made her heart skip a beat. 

Then he noticed her skirt, and Naivara briefly considered stabbing herself with whatever utensil was within reach. 

“Your skirt is on...backwards.” He locked eyes with her, and she felt a hot flush down her cheeks, her throat, her shoulders. Yet he grinned, and she could see it, the desire in his gaze intensifying. 

“You wanted some Naivara only time, ey.” And he let out a breath of a laugh. 

Oh. OH. 

She played with her hair, and gave a strained smile, thanking every deity in the wide wide world for his misinterpretation. 

“Yknow,” he said, leaning close, his voice lowering. “If you ah. Ever need You Time, I’ll gladly lend you out my quarters.” 

She wanted to scream. 

“That’s a kind offer,” she said, trying not to imagine how nice it would be to splay out in that plush, soft bed. “I’ll keep it in mind. I gotta retreat though, yknow.” She jutted a thumb up “He could be waking any minute now.”

“Took the whole night, huh,” he asked, taking a final swig. 

“Y-yeah.”

He let out a low chuckle, and gave her one last look. 

“See ya,” he said, watching her hurry upstairs. 

She hadn’t a clue about how things had worked out that morning. Somehow, it had. 

Everything fell apart the moment someone tipped him off. She didn’t know who it was, that caught her and the bard all tangled up, she was positive they’d been in a safe, quiet, hidden spot she was sure of it, it was why she caved so quickly. 

Regardless, Atlas wasn't exactly known for addressing issues point blank. He liked to play games. 

He spent the whole day with her. Her father had been gone the moment she awoke, she went looking, and found Atlas. He told her hey, let’s just eat a nice breakfast, hang out, go for a walk, all that jazz. And for some reason, some god awful reason, she did. She spent the whole day with him, from sunrise to sunset. It was a good day. 

The sun set, and he asked her a simple question. They were in a quiet, empty section of Raiaan. There was grass, and trees, and shrubbery. A few brambly patches hugging the giant wall. 

“Do you know that bard?” He asked. “The one who’s been around the block a few times. Mason’s his name.”

“Not really,” she said, scarfing down a cookie. “Why?”

He was still. Staring down at her with an intensity like nothing she’d seen before. The silence sat between them. 

“Why?” She asked again, a bit more insistent. 

Atlas took a deep breath. 

“You would have made things a lot easier for yourself if you just told the truth,” he said. “A lot easier for me, for you, for your dad.” He came closer, and Naivara felt her muscles seize up. She was frozen still, blinking, half a cookie in her hand as Atlas undid her cloak. She felt like she was on fire. She wanted to cry. 

He leaned down, and examined her neck. He tugged and pulled at her collar. 

Then he shot up, and Naivara knew in that moment, she was fucked.

“So he was telling the truth,” he said, his voice low, and malicious. “I didn't want to believe it. I was hoping we were somehow talking about two different Naivaras, but I asked what she look like, and he told me dark skin, brown eyes, brown hair, freckles, short. I asked what’s she like, and he just wouldn’t shut up, all this shit about you being silly and kind and all around lovely, then he says you’re a druid and I realize that yes, this is you. I ask him about how long he’s known you, and he tells me he’s known you for months.”

“I ask you if you know him, and you lie to my fucking face. Now that’s just cruel.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> //hhh imma re-write this one consider this a WIP because HHHHH IT CANBE BETTER I HHSUT HAVENT HA T THE TIME TO MAKE IT GOOD GOOD YKNOW

 

Naivara liked sand.

It was light, and warm. She could bury herself in it if she tried. She could shake it off. It had little hidden, pretty surprises in it. Animals, shells, rocks.

It was by the ocean.

She could have stayed on the same patch of coast for all eternity. Just watching the waves rumble, feeling the gentle tingle of mist on skin, watching the birds and the sky and clouds.

She could get used to this.

Laying in the sand, sun bearing down gently, a cool wind tickling her skin.

It was a hopeless thought, but she knew she wanted to bring her father to visit Bahar one day. Something in her heart told her he'd adore it.

“Hey, Nai,” Mazire said, giving her a shove between the shoulder blades. “You like animals, look.” He pointed out, to a dark patch of ocean in the distance. “It's a whale.”

“You're joking,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. The sand clung to the pads of her fingers, and got under her nails. “That's not an animal.”

“It is! They're massive.”

“Bull!” But she was already smiling, up, and making her way to the patchy stretch of rock that would let her get a better look. She broke into a jog, and Mazire called out for her to be careful, dumbass.

She made it to the very edge, where the rocks were slick and sea spray tickled her legs. She could see little barnacles and other tiny, bulbous creatures between her boots.

She stared at the creature in the distance, watching as it lazily coasted by.

“Are they dangerous?” She asked.

“No, they're quite peaceful compared to most creatures. They don't even kill. Their mouths are like nets they just open em and eat whatever they catch.”

“Fascinating,” she said, alreading kicking off her boots. “Cool, cool.”

“What are you doing! Put your shoes back on, you'll cut up your feet.”

“I’m not  _ staying _ on the rocks.”

“MISS NAIVARA,” He said, quite loudly. “You are not  _ hopping _ off a rocky ledge into waters like these.”

She felt a boot slam into her shoulder blades.

“SEE WHAT I DID THERE!”

Naivara let out a screech, and slammed her eyes shut as she fell into the cool, all encompassing rush of water. For a second, all she heard was her heartbeat, and the water roaring past.

Bubbles skirted up her face, her nostrils burned. Adrenaline burned her cheeks, her knuckles, her ribs.

With a deep, raspy gulp of air, and some coughing, she broke the water’s surface. Her hair was heavy, strips of brown obscuring her vision. She saw him, the blue tiefling with no impulse control, and could feel her blood rushing faster than the waves.

She made a swing in his direction, and the ocean bended to her will. It rushed forward, and caught Mazire by the feet, dragging him in.

It was satisfying to yank him down from his high horse.

Nai allowed herself to slip back under the waves, and blinked through the blue green haze. Flushes and rolls of white spiraling back and forth in curls greeted her.

She let herself bob to the surface, and got a smack to the shoulder from Mazire. She couldn’t quite hear him. She elected to ignore him, and made several broad strokes out of his reach. She breathed deeply, blinking water from her eyes as she hunted for the dark, smooth patch of ocean.

“Naivara!”

She continued on, dipping below the waters surface. When she stared through the hazy water, she could see it. It wasn’t too far off. It was big. Big and black and smooth. Leathery looking.

She thought deeply, and popped her lips. Slowly, she began hearing whispers. Whispers from creatures she couldn’t see, whispers from those tiny little tiny things that scuttled between rocks and under the sand. Mocking cries and wails from creatures getting hunted in the distance.

She rose once more, taking a feverish gulp of air.

All was quiet. Apart from Mazire yelling, and the crashing of waves, all was silent.

She dropped back under, and was submerged in the whispers and yells of thousands of creatures.

She felt a sharp tug on her shirt, and was yanked up and out of the tide.

“NAIVARA!” He yelled, shaking her a bit. “Don’t go near it! It could kill you.”

“You said it was peaceful,” she shot, trying to untangle his grip from her shirt. “What’s the harm?”

“Those things have massive fins, and flippers. Better to watch at a distance, if you’re really set on it.”

Nai dipped back below the water, and quickly swam out of his grip.

She heard the whispers and distant cries, and a low, soft hum.

 

_ Keep your distance _


	13. Guarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its not good consider this a WIP too also short as fuck but SOMETHING

Naivara wasn’t sheltered, per se.  
More like guarded.   
Some of it was from her father. He was a tiny bit over protective. It wasn’t overbearing, or all encompassing, but it was exhausting at times. She didn’t really have friends. Whether it was from the lack of youths wandering the wild, her father constantly leering over her, (and by extension any “friend” who came her way,) or her own shortcomings, she wasn’t sure.   
All she knew was she was a bit lonely. And when you’re lonely, you convince yourself you aren’t so it doesn’t feel as bad. She retreated. Put up her own, lazy little guard. Told herself she didn’t need friends, or to get attached to anyone. She had her dad, and he had her, and they were fine.   
All it did was lead to a deep, deep hunger. 

There were a handful of times where Naivara got some time to herself. No father, no prying eyes or ears. No buffer between her and what she wanted to do. She dropped her guard, forgot she even had one. 

In retrospect, she needed that buffer. She really did.


	14. Clock

“If you paid as much attention to your studies as you did on that damn clock, you’d be somewhere by now.”

Mason shrunk, and averted his gaze. 

“I’m listening,” he said. “I’m good at that. Just…”

“You’re not illiterate,” he was told. “You can read, your handwriting is legible. If you put some backbone into your work, things would be a lot easier for you.”

“It’s hard?” He said, tapping his fingers into the desk. “It’s hard. To focus. To make the words go.”

“Mason, you need to do your work. If you don’t bother with that, there’s no reason for you to even be here.”

He went home with an impossibly heavy feeling in his heart. His face felt hot, the bag in his grip felt like a ball bearing. 

He stepped into the threshold of the house, and slunked off to his room. He didn’t give his sister a second glance, he ignored his brothers, and paid his mother no mind as he forced himself up the stairs. He made it to his room, and the moment the door was shut, he felt hot tears prickle the corners of his eyes. He swiped at his eyes, and sat at his desk. 

Okay. Focus. 

He took a deep breath, and got to work. 

He set out his notebook, and his actual book, and his pencil. 

He knew time was passing. He knew it. He could hear it, in the animals quieting down, in the crickets. He saw it in the light, as the sun began to set bit by bit, until there was only a purply pink haze covering his room. 

He wanted to cry. 

Time had passed and despite sitting there, reading and writing, he didn’t understand a lick of anything. 

His mother found him, cheek resting against the book, tapping his pencil on the edge of the desk. 

“Mason, it’s dinner time,” she said. 

He peeled himself off his work, and shut the book. Then he rested his cheek on the book, and slumped over the table once more. His mother softened, and pulled some matches from her pocket. 

She quickly lit the candles scattered around his room. The one on his bedside, the one at his desk, the ones that he kept lined up on his window sill. 

“Up,” she told him, giving him a gentle hit on the neck. 

He lifted his gaze, and she saw red in his eyes. The candles illuminated how watery they were.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”

Mason dropped his chin. 

“I feel stupid.”

She narrowed her eyes a bit. 

“Now who made you think that?” She asked. 

“I can’t do anything on time, I don’t know what I’m reading, and I can’t understand anything. Everyone else gets it, and knows what they’re doing.”

She sighed, and sat on his bed. 

“Over here, c’mon.”

Mason dragged himself over, and leaned into her side. She gave him a firm hug, holding him close. 

“Listen here,” she told him. “You aren’t stupid. You’re a bright, smart young man. You’re talented, and wonderful. If you need help with your studies, you can always come to me, or your uncles, or your pa, or even your sisters.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They’ll drag me.”

She laughed. 

“They’ll help you, before anything else. You’re allowed to ask for help. There’s nothing wrong with it. It might not even be you, y’know. Who knows, maybe your teacher just isn’t someone you can handle. If that’s the case, we can get someone else, somehow. Isn’t the end of the world.”

“I don’t like school.”

There was a moment of silence. 

“Well? Go on.”

“The teachers mean and the kids suck and I hate my seat and I’m stuck in a room doing stuff I’m not interested in, learning things I don’t need to know and if I’m not learning things I don’t need to know, then I’m learning stuff that’s boring. I feel stuck in there.”

“You gotta learn what you gotta learn,” his mother said. “Knowledge is power, sweetheart. You’re a clever cookie, but it’s important to learn about the world.”

“Why can’t I learn on my own?”

His mother sighed. 

“Mason, that’s a very hard, very grueling path. Not everyone can handle that.”

“But then I learn what actually matters.”

“I…” His mother let out a weary sigh. “We can discuss that later. For now, let’s go eat dinner. Time’s a tickin, your foods getting cold.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Eraveia, love, what’s wrong?”

Eraveia swiped at her eyes, and brought her knees to her chest. 

“M exhausted,” she murmured. “Everything hurts. I’m cold.” 

Her legs ached, the bleeding wasn’t letting up, her stomach felt absolutely horrid.

“I’ll find you a blanket,” he said. “And some more of whatever you were chewing earlier. Do you want to hold her?”

Eraveia lifted her watery gaze, and stared at the bundle in Savans arms. 

She gave a single, tiny nod. 

When the baby was safely in her arms, she couldn’t resist toying with her thin, wispy hair. Eraveia could feel a gentle, enveloping warmth spreading through her chest. 

“So you’re what kept me up all those nights,” she teased, giving the baby a gentle boop on the nose. Bundled in the blanket, she couldn’t do much, beyond make a face. “I’m surprised you turned out so good,” Eraveia murmured. “I expected you to come out and kick up a fuss at every little thing. Lord knows you probably bruised my stomach from the inside…”

“But you’re such a good girl,” Eraveia said. “So quiet and lovely. I’d go so far as to say you’re a dignified little baby. I bet you got it from Savan. I was a bratty little thing. I dunno how my parents tolerated me for so long.”

Eraveia let out a sigh, and tried to ignore the panging in her heart. She plucked at her skirt, and let out a low whine, feeling it cling to her skin. 

Add it to the list, she thought, gently rocking the baby. Baby clothes, blankets, bottles, and now a pair of pants for herself. And winter was on its way, so jackets, rations, more blankets...shit.

She was dizzy just thinking about it.

“Here,” Savan said, crouching down. He held out a blanket, and a thick, ugly little tin. 

Eraveia leaned forward, and he looped it around her shoulders. Then she let out a deep sigh, and opened her mouth, expectant. Savan rolled his eyes, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Oh don’t be like that,” she laughed. “You’re awful.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his chest rumbling.

He broke off a piece of the tacky, chewy substance, and offered it to her. She took it by her teeth, and then began to chomp. Her shoulders dropped, her head fell back a bit. 

“This stuffs good,” she said. 

Savan held the tin, and turned it in his fingers. He tapped it on his knee, eyes locked on the bundle in Eraveia’s arms. 

“I love you, but I’m not letting you have this any time you’d like. It’s helpful, yes but you’ve already had what, three chunks in the past few hours? That can’t be healthy.”

“I’m feelin good,” she told him. “And alright. Fair, fair. It’s really good though. You should try some.”

“No. Not happening.”

“Alrighty sober boy,” she teased. “Oh! I can drink now. Next time we pop into a tavern, I need a fucking drink.” 

Savan could feel his patience waning. 

“Eraveia, we have bigger priorities than getting you a drink. And you….you can’t breastfeed when you’re drunk. That can’t be good for her.”

Eraveia sighed, and rubbed at her temples. 

“Okay. Fine. You’re right.”

“You can’t just drink whenever you’d like anymore. It isn’t fair to her and isn’t fair to me.”

She tapped her fingers to her forehead, and gave a mild salute. 

“I’m serious.”

“Savan,” she said, leaning forward, to rest her forehead against his. “I hear you.”

Her breath smelled of willowbark, and he didn’t quite like it.


	16. Angles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {RESCINDED}

{RESCINDED}


	17. Swollen

Eraveia was ready to throw down with anyone, anywhere, for the smallest reason. 

Since leaving home it hadn’t been as bad. Nobody rubbed her the way her peers did, nobody sent her flying off the handle like her sister, or brother, or that god awful blondie who refused to let what they once had die. 

It was easier to let things go when you had the knowledge that you’d never cross their path again. No reason to get worked up over nothing. Some would say it was all the MORE reason to pick a fight, get away with something you otherwise wouldn’t, but Eraveia considered herself above it. 

Picking a fight and then jumping ship was lame. 

Picking a fight, winning, and then crossing their paths and knowing you won? You beat their ass? Put them in their place, and they had to LIVE with it? Ah, much more gratifying. 

She fell off the habit once she was grown, but when she was young, oof. 

Some kid wouldn’t leave her alone, and he wound up yanking on her pigtail, so she rounded on him and sucker punched him square in the teeth. She may have bled, but he lost a tooth, so hah. 

Her mother wasn't particularly happy about it. 

Eraveia was detained in an empty class. While there, she used chalk to do a lacey pattern on the bottom corners. It looked cute.

Her mother stormed in, eyes firey, and gave her a hard shove, asking why the fuck she picked a fight, why she couldn't of just stayed in her lane, all that jazz. 

Eraveia fell back, and slammed cheek first into that metal tray hooked against the base of the board. She got a hard slice there, and the entire area swelled up and didn't go down for a week. 

She spent that week locked up in her room, of her own accord, stealing midnight snacks from the kitchen. She didn't even go to school. Refused to.

She stayed in there and drew and painted and played her violin until she passed out. 

When she came out, her parents were apathetic. 

Her father wasn't there, her mother was malicious. Neither of her siblings dared to get so much as a word in, regarding what happened. 

The kid who's teeth she busted up, they respected her. 

The only ones who gave her any respect back then were the people she crushed under her heel. 

These days all she had was Savan. 

And he wasn't about to fly off the handle with her. It simply wasn't in his nature. It was half of why she fell for him. Easy, calming presence. Made her want to sit still and listen. 

She wanted to be with him. And if she had to set herself straight to do it, then so be it.

“She deserved a slap to that wretched little face,” she muttered, resting her cheek on his chest. 

“I know, she did.”

“Shoulda let me slap her.”

“Eraveia…it's the hormones, love.”

She huffed. 

Savan ran a hand over her belly. It was already swelling, bit by bit. 

She raised her eyes to meet his. 

“We need to teach this lil bun to kick ass,” she said. Savan laughed, and her face split open in a grin. “I'm serious.”

“I dunno about that. We can argue about it when the time comes.”


	18. Bottle

She always jumped ship before sunset. It was tricky, but she did it. 

That being said, she didn’t jump through a billion hoops. All she had to do was get Out of the damn place and make sure her father was asleep. Sometimes she’d just walk out of the tavern, sometimes she’d clutch a piece of paper and thumb over it, hoping those who Did keep an eye on her chalked it up to a quick errand run. 

Now and again, Kallisto would catch her on the move, and try to convince her to come and sit, lets play a game, or eat, Atlas will be down any minute now c’mon Nai. 

She politely gave her the slip, over and over. Eventually Kallisto stopped trying. 

And so Nai was able to roam as she pleased. 

She always felt a bit giddy, making her way to the old, untamed corner of Raaian. It wasn’t like stepping into paradise, but when she went there, thing’s just felt better. Instead of cobblestone underfoot, there was thick, dewy grass. There were bushes, a handful of stout trees and tall grasses. 

And Mason. He was there too. 

He was staring up at the sky. 

“I’m somewhere between cloud gazing, and star gazing,” he said, when she finally lied down at his side. “It’s all real pretty.”

She leaned into his side, and gazed up at the hazy lilac sky, speckled with stars, and soft clouds.

“It is,” she said, her voice demure. “I love it. I don’t think it’s normally like this, right?”

“You need to get out more,” he muttered, knocking his knee against her own. “Normally it’s not this pretty. Tethia has gorgeous sunsets, Nai. My parents would let us break from our studies and duties to admire them. It’s real nice when you have a blanket, or like, a good chair outside, cause then you can sit and get cozy and fall asleep to it all. I love it.”

Naivara let out a dreamy sigh. 

“Sounds amazing.”

“It issssss.” 

He pushed himself up onto his palms, and dipped out of her peripheral for a few moments.

“I brought some stuff,” he said, and she heard a swish and thunk. She frowned, and rolled over. 

“Mason, I don't drink.”

“I know,” he said, tugging a dark, rather stout bottle from his basket. “I got us some cookies, and apple juice.”

Naivara had never grinned so widely. 

“You…are the best,” she said. “Thank you.”

He tossed her the bottle, and pushed the basket of snacks between them. 

“Bon appetit, pretty girl.”


	19. scorched

Beads of sweat ran down the pit of her neck, dampening the collar of her shirt. 

There wasn’t even a breeze to ease her scorched, rough skin, beginning to fray under the afternoon sun. 

She wanted to cry, but there was nothing to release. There was no breeze. There was no easing this dreadful, hellish venture. 

She swiped at her brow, and thumbed over the amulet in her palm. 

“You better be worth this,” she muttered. 

It flared in her palm, pleasantly cool. She felt a gentle breeze. 

“Thank you,” she said, setting it back in the pocket over her breast. “I dunno if you creatures can feel the same shit we do, bein godly n all, I don’t...so thank you, for that. I don’t suppose you could lead me to water, could ya?”

The pocket over her chest grew damp, and cold. 

“Holy shit,” she said, tugging the amulet from her pocket. “This is perfect! Thank you thank you,” she said, before popping the gem over the top of her water skin. “I will be parched no longer! With this I could prolly make it to Poibe like nothing. This is fantastic…” 

Once her waterskin was heavy, and cold against her side, she pried the gem from its spot. 

Thank you, she told it. Soon we’ll be home.

Thank you, it said right back. 

Soon we’ll be home.


	20. Breakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally everyone, in the world: wahah ANGST BITCHES  
> me: im going to have them argue over the validity of the word and thats it
> 
>  
> 
> not my best work but hey! as long as you do something its a victory <3

“Be careful, it's breakable.”

Maeven paused, and gave Mason a confused look. 

“You mean fragile,” he said.

“What’s the difference?” He asked, yanking on a boot. 

“Breakable isn't a word.” Maeven set the box on the table, and began to sift through it.

“It's a word. I said it. I’ve heard it said before.”

“It's...not.”

From under a blanket, the two heard, “If it's a word, it's a lame one.” Mason twisted, and roughed up the mass of blanket that was Naivara. She let out a whine, and rolled out of reach.

“It's a word, damn you,” Mason teased, looking back at the white and gold tiefling.

“It's not a word,” Maeven asserted. 

“What's not a word?” 

“Aleris, is breakable a word?”

The red tiefing, fresh from a bath, thought it over briefly. 

“Well, yeah, you just said it.”

“Okay but is it a valid word that deserves to be said.”

“I don't….know?”

“The answer, good sir, is yes.”

“It isn't!”

Amara, who had been quietly sipping from a drink at the base of the bed, let out a long sigh. She pushed herself to her feet, and put her hands in a pew, facing Maeven. 

“Fuck you.”

“Amara.”

“People are breakable. There, I gave you sentence example, good sir. It's all about connotation and sentence structure.”


	21. Drained

The water was warm and still.

Her hair clung to her shoulders, her scalp, her back. Bits of it were streaks of brown in her vision, obscuring the blueish white of the water.

Her arms ached. The heat did little to ease the pain. It was almost pleasant. Her muscles relaxed, her skin felt soft. 

The scars on her arms stung, though.

She kinda wanted to cry. Kinda wanted to die. 

She was officially alone. 

Mazire had Celeus. Mari had Azaerin. 

Both pairs were probably curled up cozy in bed. Drifting into a rest like no other. 

That was good. That was good.

Didn't change the fact she felt bad. 

She let herself dip below the water's surface, the warmth enveloping her completely and wholly. She heard running water, and the distant sound of footsteps. Her own heartbeat. Blood rushing through her ears.

Then she rose.

There was trickling. A quiet, gentle trickle and splishing.

Everything felt like too much.

She wanted to drown it out, but she knew that drowning herself wouldn't fix shit.

It would lock her father away for good. 

She was so close. Too close.

But she wanted nothing more than to just forget everything. Everything. Just for five minutes. 

To lay in the warmth of a bath, with her mind at ease would have been nothing short of a miracle.

But all she could think about were the bracelets on her wrist, the ring on her finger, the necklace weighing down her neck. 

Sahar. 

The only people who could make her feel any better were MIA, otherwise engaged, or locked behind bars. 

Tonto hadn’t even followed her in. She had retreated to a tree nook, where she was probably terrorizing a squirrel or some other critter. 

Nai swiped at her eyes, and spared a glance at the bag, just out of reach. Her bottle was in there. 

She never liked drinking. She had only done it once, on the ship to Doroust. It made her dizzy, and tasted bad. It mighta been because she was a lightweight, but it mighta been because of the ship. Either way she couldn’t remember much after drinking that night. 

She reached out, skin against cold tile, droplets of water spilling across the white, marble like surface. She managed to loop a finger around the strap, and tugged it close enough that she could pull the bottle from its pouch. 

It was pretty. A stained glass bottle, all shiny and colorful. She liked it a lot. She turned it in her grasp, thumbing over the designs. 

She quietly promised herself she was going to drain the thing. All three charges. 

Here and now.


	22. I DID IT BUT ITS NOT WHERE I WANT IT

tba


	23. Muddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things werent ALL bad all the time

Trudging through Cerinth in the pouring rain was an uphill battle. 

When Naivara was little, she was carried and protected in her father's arms. He bundled her up and kept her warm, and dry as he could. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. 

When she grew out of it, existence got a lot harder.

Trudging through the rain was hellish. It was like being battered by thousands of tiny fists, each one trying to drag you down into the slushy, muddy nothingness that was the earth.

It was half of why they began sticking around Cirenth. During the rainy season, it was easier to just take root and tough it out. Even if it meant eating less, and sleeping more. 

Her boots had been completely caked in mud, when she stepped into the tavern. She almost felt bad about the mess she was making, but her absolute hatred of everything and desire to curl up in bed took the forefront.

She didn't notice Atlas until he was right in front of her. Her father was already trudging up the stairs, too tired to make sure she was right at his side.

“You're filthy,” he said. 

Naivara gave him a look, a sharp glare, before sidestepping him. She was acutely aware of the fact that she looked like hell, looked like garbage, and she was the one with rainwater dribbling down her neck and dampening her clothes, with mud and crushed worms under her heels. She knew. 

“The best way to recover from a storm like that is a warm bath,” he said, glancing away. “Check your pockets,” he murmured, before turning on his heel. 

She gave him a confused glare, before a hand came to rest in her pocket, and she found two coin weighing it down. She felt her shoulders drop. 

“Thank you,” she said. He spared a glance at her, and she gave him a demure smile. “This is really sweet, I appreciate it a lot, this is -”

“Naivara!”

“COMING,” she yelled, whipping around. She gave him another smile, a tiny nod, and then bounded off, following her father upstairs. 

“Dad!” Atlas heard. “Daaaaaad.”

He couldn’t help a breath of a laugh escaping him. She was too damn cute. A doll, really.


	24. Chopped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :c

The desire to chop off his daughters hair nagged at him ceaselessly. 

Naivara took after Eraveia. She had a lot of Savan in her, she did. Her eyes were the same as his own in shape, and she had his nose, and his unruly waves of hair.

But she had her mother’s eyes. Deep, deep brown. She had her mother’s freckles, and her brown skin. Lighter, but still.

Sometimes it felt like Eraveia was mocking him from beyond the grave. Deep brown eyes burning holes in his head.

Staring at him in disappointment. 

He made sure to cut Naivara's hair religiously. He never let it grow past the middle of her shoulder blades. Always kept it short. 

He told her it was for hygiene. Less hair meant less mess. Lice wouldn't be as hellish, she could clean up faster. It was efficient. 

Really, he just didn't want her to grow it out. 

Eraveia had the longest hair he'd ever seen. Long enough to loop into a scarf around her neck, and then some. 

“She used to have me pick bugs from her hair,” he told her, brushing Naivara’s thick, wavy locks. Her hair may have been short, but it was an absolute menace. 

“Ew,” Nai said, turning a page in her book. “Gross.” 

“Leaves, bugs, twigs. Name it, it got in there.”

“How did she live with herself? That’s so...icky.”  
He let out a deep sigh. 

“I’m not that sure,” he said. “I loved her dearly, but there are some things that puzzle me still about her to this day.”

“Like what?”

The fact she rarely drank, but when she did, she drank herself into a catatonic stupor. 

The fact she used her violin case as a makeshift weapon.

“Nothing in particular,” he said. “Sometimes people are just baffling. Now sit still, alright.”

And with one swift slice, Naivara’s curls littered the floor. 

That had been so, so long ago. Back when she was still just a girl. 

And here his daughter sat, cross legged, gold piling up against her knees. Staring at him with this look he couldn’t quite pin down, curly hair spiraling out in every which way. Her eyes were glossy. 

She looked just like her mother.


	25. Prickly

The coast was a pleasant escape from the woodlands of Cerinth. 

Naivara had been there a couple times before, when she was still very small. She could remember the sand on her toes, and the salty sweet air. She and her father had sat down and built little sand castles together, Naivara patting down the sand into big piles, and poking holes and stabbing sticks into the mounds.

She wasn't allowed near the rockier patches that stretched deep into the water. She was too small. Her father didn't believe she'd come out unscathed from wandering around there.

Tidepools, he was more lenient about.

He would guide her to the shallow edges, and carefully maneuver her through, until they found something that tickled her fancy. Sometimes it was a giant rope of kelp, sometimes it was squishy little, brightly colored slugs that clung to the rocks. 

Sometimes they were bright purple, and prickly. 

She liked poking them. She wasn’t willing to reach down and pick them up, but it was nice to touch them at the very least. They didn’t move, they were basically harmless, and unique. She’d never seen something shaped like...like an explosion before in nature. And PURPLE, she rarely saw that in a critter. 

“Be careful, starshine,” he said, an arm outstretched over her tiny stomach. “Balance, remember.”

She leaned against his arm, and peered down at the prickly mass below them. 

“Closer?” She asked, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. 

Savan wanted to deck himself, for allowing such a cute little girl to come into existence. 

“Alright,” he said. “Careful, careful, look at how I’m crouched, remember to watch your footing, be balanced, hold onto my arm if you need to.” 

“Gottit gottit!”

The rocks below their feet were covered in thick, chunky algae up and down the sides. 

She crouched down beside him, and reached into the cool water. It splished against her knees, and some droplets hit her face. She leaned in closer, and reached out. Her fingers brushed against the blunt, not quite rounded pricks of the sea urchin. 

“Be careful, sweetheart.”

“M’careful,” she said, tugging on one of the spikes. It was almost suctioned onto the rock. She thought that was kinda cool. 

Just to the left of the prickly little thing, was a strange little brightly colored mass. It looked soft and squishy. 

She gave it a gentle prod, with the pads of her fingers. It sunk in on itself, and she gave a little shriek before pulling back. 

“What! What is it are you hurt?” Her father asked, pulling her onto his knees. “Are you okay?” He took her hand, and examined it, searching for burns or marks or blood. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay!”

“Naivara Goldenholi,” he said in exasperation. “You will be the death of me.”


	26. Reached

unhappy with the turnout here so


	27. Thunder

“Naivara,” Savan called, leaning up against the tavern door. “Naivara, come back in!”

The young girl, maybe eight, was splashing around in puddles. Rain was gently sprinkling down, luminous in the evening night.

She had her hood pulled all the way up, and her cloak bunched in her fists. The droplets on her cloak reminded Savan of dewy grass and flowers.

“Sweetheart, please,” he said. “Inside.”

“But it’s so pretty out!”

Savan glanced at the sky. The thick, fluffy clouds were patchy, glowing softly in the light of the sunset. The sky was a peachy hue that faded to yellow, the clouds outlined in orange, with cores of not quite blue and not quite grey.

“It's quite beautiful,” he said. “But you need to come in. For dinner, if nothing else.”

“Can I do it once it's dark out?” 

Savan glanced up and down the street. 

Very few folks were out. One man was quietly smoking under the canopy of a nearby housing complex. Two others, relatively young, a pair, were walking across the street, eyes trained on Naivara, who was happily splishing and splashing in the shallow waters. 

They were watching her. Kinda smiling at her. 

Savan considered walking right up to Naivara's side and pulling her in by the hood, but then the couple approached him, smiling softly, waving. 

“She yours?” One of them asked. 

“Yes,” Savan said. 

“She's an absolute doll of a girl,” the other said. “Adorable, really.”

Savan gave a tight smile. 

“How old is she?”

“Eight!” Naivara called from a distance. Savan made a mental note to lecture her about answering questions from strangers. 

“Oh geeze,” the tiefling of the pair said. “How’s that like?”  
Savan didn’t register it was a question for him. He had a moment where he jolted, eyes darting from Naivara to the tief and back. Naivara was staring at the sky, kicking at the shallows below her feet. She was a good distance away, lost in her own little world. 

“Ah...bit of a handful? Stressful, at times,” he confessed. “But good. She’s my whole world.”

The human of the pair smiled. He had freckly skin, and loose, curly hair. 

“We’re considerin kids,” he said, sparing a glance at Naivara, who was crouched down, looking for worms in the puddles. “Any advice?”

“Start a savings fund.”

They all laughed, but Savan felt a little hollow. 

“Beyond that...patience and diligence. Having a kid is...basically a job, except you don’t get any breaks, or holidays, or money. They’re a massive time investment. A massive monetary investment too…” He spared a glance at Naivara, who was cupping a worm in her palm. 

He was already doing the math in his head, for how much a warm bath would cost and if her shoes broke or cloak had to be replaced.

“Gotta keep an eye on em,” he said. “They rely on you for everything. You're their entire world as much as they are yours.” 

The orange haze that had been over Raaian began to fade to a deep, smoky grey. Savan glanced up, and saw the sky rapidly darkening, clouds knotting together. 

“Naivara, come inside this instant,” he ordered. 

She took a moment to put the worms back in a puddle, before scurrying back to him. She nearly slipped, but caught herself on the way there. 

There was a crack of thunder, and the rain poured down in heaves. It hit the earth so hard Savan could feel it through his bones. 

“Alright up, up,” Savan said, pulling Naivara into his grip. She was getting bigger, but still felt quite light. The rain dampened his legs, and he could feel cold seeping through his being.

He turned to the pair with a smile. “It's been lovely to talk, and I wish you both the best.”

“Thank youu,” the human said, already burrowing into the tieflings side. 

“Have a good night,” the tiefling said, lifting up their cloak for their boyfriend to hide under. 

“Goodnight to you too,” he said, watching them go with a bit of a forlorn smile. 

They were a young pair. Younger than him or Eraveia had been, when they had Naivara. 

“Ok bed time,” Naivara said, puckering up at the wind slashing at her face. He could see droplets of rain balanced on her lashes, and dusted on bits of her hair.

“Course, love.” He gave her a firm kiss on the head, before retreating inside the tavern.


	28. Gift

Eraveia woke to the smell of toast. 

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she was briefly blinded by the white light spilling through the window. Sparkles and pops of various colors dotted her vision, as she propped herself up. She rubbed at her sore chest, before glancing down, and jumping out of her skin. 

“Holy shit,” she laughed, falling back into the mound of pillows. She scared herself. Or rather, her baby scared her. She ran a hand over her stomach, over the plump bump that would only grow with time. 

“Savan!” She said, spotting him easing dishes onto a desk. “Can you believe I almost jumped out of my skin just now.”

“Yes,” he said, picking up a plate of eggs and bread. He gave her a smile, before handing her a plate. “I did the same when I woke up. Gave me the energy to go get you breakfast.”

She let out a mumble of a laugh, before taking a bite of toast. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with love. “That’s very sweet.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, before leaning into her side. For a short while, they simply sat there, together. Eraveia tearing through her plate, Savan quietly thumbing over the box in his pocket. 

“I got you something,” he said, pulling it from his pocket. Eraveia went deathly still, eyes fixed on the box. After a moment of fixation she looked at him, eyes filled with a blend of fear and exuberance. 

“Is that what I think it is,” and despite the fear gnawing at her heart, she was smiling, eyes bright. She kept glancing down at the box and up at him and back.   
“Is it?” He asked, laughing. “That’s the question.”

“Savan,” she said, wrapping her free hand around his own. “Is it?”

“Do you want it to be what you think it is?” He asked, his voice soft. 

Eraveia paused, staring down at the box. She stared at it, almost forlorn. 

“I gotta confess,” she said, giving a smile. “I do.”

Savan opened the case to a ring and Eraveia tossed her plate aside. It clamored to the ground and bits of egg and toast spilled at their feet. 

“Dammit Eraveia, I have to clean that up now!”

“We’re getting married!” She squealed, taking the box from his grip. She bounced in her seat, heart pounding, and pulled him into a kiss, looping her arm around his neck. It all devolved into laughter and giggles, and then they were curled up together in bed, in a hazy glee, the warm morning sun illuminating them both.


End file.
